


picture this

by chasinghappiness



Category: Figure Skating RPF
Genre: F/M, Ice Dancer!Scott, Minor Character Death, Photographer!Tessa
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-07-05
Updated: 2019-07-05
Packaged: 2020-06-08 18:01:14
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 18,486
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/19475806
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/chasinghappiness/pseuds/chasinghappiness
Summary: Tessa has photographed ballerinas from Paris, contemporary dancers from the highest training schools in the world, famous choreographers working alongside even more famous dancers. No one has made her feel the way Scott does when he is skating. There is something about him that completely enraptures her....Wherein Tessa is a photographer and Scott is an ice dancer. He invites her on tour and she invites him into her heart.





	picture this

**Author's Note:**

> Thought I would take a break from the meet-ugly prompts to tap into the amateur photographer part of me. I apologize for any inaccuracies, not much research went into this other than pulling up the timeline for TTYCT and wracking my brain for any and all knowledge on how to operate a camera. I hope you enjoy!

The summer days seem to always drag on, with the burning sun and the air smelling like a mixture of flowers, sweat, and sweltering concrete. The long days begin when the clocks jump back in the month of March, granting an extra hour of sleep and more time in the light. It seems the summer never is dark, always bearing fruitful bouts of energy through the rays of the sun. It starts with rain, lots of rain. Life springs from excess bouts of water spitting from the clouds in the sky, providing promises of colours filling the grounds, sprouting past soil and dirt. It brings hope in a world that is usually dark and grim. Daisies and tulips and magnolias provide people with a silver lining, brightening moods simply through their existence. 

The summer reminds Tessa of being a little girl, fingers sticky from humidity and popsicles that melt and drip down her hand. Her favourite flavour has always been the blue ones. Summer reminds her of baking cookies in her grandmother’s house and sweating from the excess heat the oven would produce. She’d always lick the batter filled whisk clean with her tongue. Summer reminds her of running through sprinklers, the lilting sound of her sibling’s giggles as they cupped their hands over the hose and threw the accumulated water at each other. They’d always dump the most on her, chalking it up to her being the youngest, as if their birth order was justification for torment. Summer reminds her of the giddy excitement after the final school bell would ring and she knew that for the next two months the only thing on her mind would be freedom. 

Summer reminds her of the cottage, of long car rides up to the cottage. Thunderstorms. Lightening. Big booming sounds from the sky that shake the car around her. Rain pouring down and pounding against the roof sounding like bullets. Tires screeching, crunching metal, horrified screams. Darkness. 

May and June blend together until the twenty first of the latter month, marking the beginning of Tessa’s least favourite season. The day glares at her from the desk calendar in front of her. She’s doodled an image of the sun within the square, something she doesn’t actually remember doing, but probably did so in the middle of a long uploading process. Through the windows that line her office, sheer curtains covering them that she hung up to let the light in because fluorescence has always been her least favourite, the sun boars in and she squints against it. Under her desk, Normand looks up at her, his big brown eyes practically reading her disinterest in the day. 

“Don’t look at me like that,” she mutters to the dog. He just whines and tilts his head at her before placing it down on his massive paws. 

Tessa sighs and looks back to the computer to see the bar slowly crawling on the screen. 120 photos complete out of 1467. It’s bound to be a long day. The wifi started lagging yesterday, something about a faulty system Rogers emailed her about this morning when she complained to the company. She taps at the memory card in the slot even though she knows the action won’t do anything to help move along the process. It’s just a waiting game now. 

In the meantime, Tessa goes through her emails, replying to customer inquiries and rolling her eyes at confused parents who can’t seem to navigate her website for the life of them. One of them comments on how they want their money back because their child doesn’t look good in the pictures that were provided. Tessa has to grin and bear it as she types back a response explaining that she doesn’t do refunds.

A text to Jordan asking if she wants to get dinner tonight, editing a few studio shots, and a few minutes spent scrolling through her Instagram later, the upload is up to 598 photos that are now on her hard drive.

Tessa starts to sort them into folders according to the dancer’s name, referring to her list that the academies have provided to her. It’s tedious work, one of the less glamorous sides to her job, but needs to be done nonetheless. She opens her Spotify app and picks a playlist, something titled with the word  _ Acoustic _ in it, and lets the sounds of guitars, pianos, and soothing voices lull in the background of her work. 

Just as she opens a new folder, there is a loud bang on the door. Tessa looks up quickly and Normand stands up just as fast, his back hitting the desk, the dog not used to his ever growing height. He trots over to the door, releasing little barks as he goes, his nose presses against the glass looking outside once he gets close enough to do so. Now she’ll have to take Windex to the window for the fifth time this week. 

There’s a man standing at the door, his hands cupping his face as he peers into the window. He pushes against the door again and Tessa rolls her eyes. Doesn’t he notice that it’s locked? Pushing on it, no matter how many times he does so, will not change that. 

Tessa walks over and unhooks the latch, opening it for him. “Sorry,” she says. “I keep it locked since I’m usually the only one here.”

“No worries,” the man says with a smile. “You’re Tessa, right?”

“Mhm,” she hums. “That’s me. How can I help you?”

He reaches his hand up to scratch the back of his neck, the black t-shirt he adorns stretching over his broad shoulders and the muscles in his arm. “I’m looking for a photographer.”

“Oh,” she says. “Well, come in.”

Tessa leads the man inside, gesturing for him to follow her into the tiny office. Normand sits expectantly beside her desk, his tail thumping on the ground, tongue hanging out the side of his mouth. 

“Woah,” the man gasps. “Is that a horse or a dog?”

Tessa can’t help but let out a small laugh. “A great dane actually.”

“I’d never expect someone so tiny to own a dog so big,” he says. Tessa knows it must be in good nature, simply just an observation, but she dislikes how small the comment makes her feel. 

“Yeah,” she replies nonchalantly, breezing over the statement. “How can I help you…”

“Scott,” he fills in for her, catching the way she trailed off, expecting him to inform her of who he is. “Scott Moir.” The name sounds familiar but she can’t exactly place where she’s heard it before. “I’m looking to get some photos taken of me and my partner.”

Tessa’s not sure why this causes her disappointment. “Oh, uh, sure. Usually I don’t take photos of couples, but I’m in a lull right now with the off season. Perhaps I can fit you in. Is this an engagement shoot, a wedding, a—?”

Scott cuts her off with a loud booming laugh. “No, no, none of that, actually. She’s my ice dance partner. We’ve recently decided to come back to competition and would like photos taken for promotional purposes.”

_ Oh.  _ “Oh.”

Looking at him, Tessa is finally able to place this man. She remembers being twenty and watching the Olympics with friends from college. The ice dance event coincided with their watch party that involved too much wine and definitely not enough snacks. Most of her friends had a crush on one half of the prospective gold medalists for the event; Scott Moir. Tessa very clearly remembers this phase in her life, when she had to laugh awkwardly and agree. Even though she possessed an interest in Scott, he was very charming indeed, she had an even stronger attraction for his partner, Ella Moss. Later in life she would come to realize that this very small detail had a huge influence in forming a part of her identity. 

“Congratulations,” Tessa offers Scott lamely after a wave of silence. “Uh, I’ve never photographed figure skaters, though. I specialize in dance.”

“I know,” he says immediately. “I’ve seen your work, though. It’s…” he pauses and Tessa finds herself holding her breath, anxious as to what he might say. “It’s gorgeous. The most beautiful photos I think I’ve ever seen, if I’m honest.” He shrugs, casually, as if he’s never spoken any truer words.

Tessa feels herself flush, her face warming up infinitesimally. “Oh, thank you. That’s very kind. I’m just… I’m a little hesitant to take on a new medium. I wouldn’t want to disappoint you.”

“I don’t think you could,” he tells her, voice soft and raw. 

A shiver runs up her spine. “Well then.” Tessa pauses and inhales deeply. She can’t believe what she’s about to do, but with a long exhale and a hesitant smile, she says, “Let’s talk about what exactly it is you’re looking for.”

**…**

Per the instructions Scott sent her through email about two weeks ago, Tessa flies into the Montreal airport at the beginning of July, her plane landing at exactly three in the afternoon. The sun is high in the sky, shining off the metal of the massive aircraft. Sparkling pavement meets her on the ground, the wheels of her carry on rolling gently across it. She holds the handle tightly, always conscious of her expensive photography equipment, especially when she travels.

When she turns her phone off airplane mode she’s hit with two text messages that were sent to her while in the air. The first is from Jordan; a picture of Normand passed out on the couch and a flood of emojis, most of them to do with sleeping and dogs. The other is from Scott; a picture as well, but instead of an animal it’s him holding up a sign with her name on it, a big grin spread across his face.  _ We’re here!  _ it says, the text accompanying the image. Beside him is a woman, Ella most likely. She’s grown up in the past two years, Tessa notices.

After Scott came to visit her at the office, Tessa went on a little binge through all of their competition videos she could find on YouTube. They’re beautiful skaters, that she cannot deny. The fluidity of Scott’s blade across the ice paired with the stunning posture and arm movements of Ella are unparalleled. Tessa’s been trained to know a good dancer from a bad one, and even though these two translate their movements onto a patch of frozen water, Tessa can’t help but notice the innate ability they have to gracefully move. She’s more than excited to witness it in person.

“Tessa!” Scott shouts once she takes the escalator down to the main level where friends and family can greet passengers. Or, in this case, business partners. Or should it be a business trio? Before her thoughts can venture too far into the finite specifics, Scott’s passing off his sign to Ella and wrapping Tessa in a surprising hug. Tessa absolutely is not expecting it. Sure, they’ve been chatting back and forth over the past three weeks, but she didn’t think they were up to hugging territory.

Nonetheless, she hugs him back quickly, laughing and greeting him with a quiet, “hello.”

He lets go of her and grabs onto the woman beside him, pulling on her arm until she is standing in front of Tessa. “This is my partner, Ella,” he introduces her.

“And I am capable of speaking for myself, which might be a shock to my partner,” Ella jokes with a roll of her eyes and a smile that creeps onto her face. “It’s so lovely to meet you, Tessa. Truly. I couldn’t believe it when Scott said you agreed to work with us. I’ve been admiring your work for so long.”

Tessa’s overwhelmed by the praises. Sure, she’s been told many times that people like her photographs. She has a whole business that is sustained just because of this fact. But compliments are not something she deals with well. Usually she becomes flustered and can only say a small, “thank you,” that most of the time comes across as ingenious when, in reality, she is so filled with gratitude and she doesn’t know how to handle it. This is exactly what happens this time, to which Ella responds with a nod of her head and a small smile.

“Are you okay if we head straight to the rink?” Scott asks. He looks like a small child, excitedly bouncing on the balls of his feet. 

Ella smacks his arm lightly. “Jesus, Scott. Let the girl feel the ground for a little bit, yeah?” She turns to Tessa. “You can go back to your hotel first, if you’d like?”

“No that’s okay,” Tessa says. Her eyes are drooping and she feels congested, as she always does after a long flight, but she’s itching to feel the bitterness of a stale rink and hear the sounds of blades scraping across the ice. “I’d love to head to the rink.”

Scott drives the three of them to Gadbois, the training centre where him and Ella are now based out of (Tessa’s done her research, but also Scott is… an over-sharer), Tessa shoved in the back with all of her equipment. She watches the interactions between Ella and Scott, noticing how they can communicate with less than three words and a look shared between them. It’s quite astonishing and makes her even giddier to witness them on the ice together.

Nothing could prepare her for what the experience is actually like, though.

The monopod in her hands is cold to the touch, her camera balancing on the top. She tried to hold off putting on her gloves straight away, but if she gets any chillier she may have to break her half an hour waiting rule. It’s only been five minutes. All of the settings seem to be correct on the camera, the shutter speed hiked up higher than she may usually have it at a dance competition. Tessa takes a few shots of the boards, just to make sure. They come out whiter than she likes. She makes a dissatisfied face, scrunching her nose, and runs her thumb over the toggle on the top of the camera near the shutter button, adjusting the aperture. 

“How are these lights treating you?” A voice says beside her. She jumps, not expecting someone to be so close to her, and when she turns she sees Scott staring at her. Tessa doesn’t say anything, just stares back, so he points up to the ceiling. “I know they can sometimes be harsh.”

“Oh.” Tessa blinks herself out of a stupor. “Yeah, no, they’re fine. I’ve just had to adjust my settings, but it should be okay now.” She places her eye to the viewfinder and holds down the shutter. When she pulls back, the screen shows much clearer and darker photos. “Yep, all good.”

Scott grins and nods his head once. “Perfect.”

They just stand there for a moment and look at each other. It should be awkward, but Tessa finds it comforting. She forgets about her frozen fingers and how her legs are starting to feel numb. Eventually, she clears her throat and turns her attention back to the camera in her hands. “So,” she starts. “Is there a plan for today? What would you like me to do?”

“I think Ella and I are just going to skate, if that’s okay? We’ve got our short program and our free dance to utilize for shots. No costumes or anything, nothing fancy. We just want to portray us, I guess.” Scott, for the first time, sounds nervous. Tessa can’t imagine what it must be like for them, coming back to competition after being away for so long. What if the fans, the country, the competitions, don’t accept them like they did before? What if competitors, some of them their friends, become bitter towards them? What if they can’t be as good as they once were; or even worse, they’re absolutely terrible? There must be so much on the line.

But there’s a fire Tessa can see in Scott’s eyes, and in Ella’s, too. They want this. They want this more than they may have ever wanted anything. And that’s exactly what Tessa’s going to capture today.

“Okay,” she says. “Skate away.”

Ella and Scott start with slow circles around the ice, hand in hand, picking up pace eventually and racing each other in an impromptu game. Their laughter fills the arena and Tessa knows she’s supposed to be photographing their programs, but she can’t help but snap a few photos of them like this. They look so happy together, so filled with joy and clear love for each other and what they’re doing. It makes something stir inside her, a weird mixture of happiness and longing. She knows what it’s like to love something, and someone, like this. 

Music suddenly fills the air and Ella and Scott start to skate with each other, more structured, less laughter and more emotions filling their face. The piano sounds stunning, and their movements that match it are even more so. Ella is a natural dancer and Tessa wonders if she’s ever had any formal training, from the way she seems to point her toes even with a skate on, to the way she keeps her spine ram-rod straight, her core tightening when Scott lifts her into a difficult spin. Scott, though, draws Tessa’s attention. Sure, she is photographing the both of them, makes sure that the two are in frame, if not the whole time then at least most of it, but he captures her in a way she never has been before.

Tessa has photographed ballerinas from Paris, contemporary dancers from the highest training schools in the world, famous choreographers working alongside even more famous dancers. No one has made her feel the way Scott does when he is skating. There is something about him that completely enraptures her. For a moment, she even forgets that she’s holding the shutter down consistently, the sound of it rattling eventually pulling her attention from his movements. Through the viewfinder he’s stunning. She’s not sure if she wants to pull away from the camera and witness what it’s like through her own eyes. Tessa’s not sure she could handle that.

There’s a moment at the end of their skate, after the music has just finished. They end with Scott kneeling on the ground, Ella draped across his lap, his head on her chest. He pulls her up and they stay there on the ice, their knees surely becoming damp. Tessa can see that Scott says something to her, his mouth moving but imperceptible. Whatever it is, Ella laughs gently, her eyes crinkling and mouth opening. Scott laughs as well, his hand cupping her cheek and his lips pressing against her forehead and then her cheek. Tessa holds down the shutter for the whole interaction.

It’s these photos that garner the most attention from Ella and Scott when they go through the memory card on Tessa’s laptop later on.

“Holy shit,” Ella gasps, her hand clasping her chest. “Those are breathtaking, Tessa.”

Scott nods in agreement beside her. He leans in closer to the laptop and squints his eyes at the screen, even reaches out to trace the electric photo with his fingertips. “You’ve outdone yourself,” he says, actually sounding out of breath. Tessa’s soul soars with pride.

“Thank you,” Tessa says. “It was all you guys, I just held down the shutter.”

“No,” Scott says immediately. “There is no way just anyone could capture this. You’ve got a talent, kiddo.” Tessa’s unsure why, but the nickname he’s just dealt out to her makes her heart skip a beat. Maybe it’s because of the sudden fondness she feels for this man; mostly it’s because that’s what her dad used to call her.

“Scott’s right,” Ella parrots his sentiments. “And that doesn’t happen very often,” she tells Tessa with a wink.

“Heeeyyyy,” Scott whines, drawing out the word. “Let’s not start fighting before competition even starts, alright, kiddo?”

Tessa shuns herself for deflating at the fact that he must use the nickname for everyone, dealing it out like candy rather than carefully crafting it for a special someone. She’s not special, he’s just met her three weeks ago.

They gather around the photos for another half an hour, Tessa creating a separate folder on her computer for the ones that stick out to Scott and Ella. She also manages to slip in a few of her own favourites. After edits, she’ll be able to send them out so they can use them for promotional purposes. The skaters tell Tessa that they will mostly be posted on their website, in Skate Canada pamphlets, and on social media, to which she agrees to all of the above.

Scott drives her to the hotel Tessa is staying in for the night, Ella choosing to stay behind and smooth out a choppy transition she noticed whilst they were practicing. The ride is quiet but comfortable. Tessa spends most of it picking at her fingernails and reflecting on the day, a small smile creeping on her face when she thinks of Scott and Ella skating together. The memory spurs an urge in her to pull her camera out and flick through the photos again. She has a feeling she won’t be minding the usually grueling editing process. 

“I wanted to thank you again, Tessa,” Scott says once they start to inch closer to her hotel. “Those photos really are something else.”

She blushes and tucks her chin to her chest. “Oh, it’s nothing.”

The sound of his hands clutching the leather of the steering wheel is almost as loud as the sigh he exhales. “You gotta stop doing that.”

Tessa looks up and blinks at Scott in shock. “Uh… stop doing what?

He keeps his eyes on the road as he says, “Doubting yourself.”

She tucks her bottom lip between her teeth, rubbing it raw until it stings and Tessa knows there will be a cut there in the morning. This is not something she can do easily; stop doubting herself. There is always something she can do better, some part of herself she can improve. Her photographs do not always speak for themselves. This is what allows room for doubt and a numbing anxiety that she is doing something wrong. 

Past all of this, though, she mutters a small, “okay,” to Scott, not quite putting him at ease, she can tell, but it settles his shoulders and he unclenches his fists from the wheel.

“Okay,” he repeats back to her.

They exchange pleasantries when he pulls up to her hotel, thanks thrown back and forth along with promises of catching up that Tessa isn’t sure will be held. She tells him that the photos will make their way to him within the next two weeks and he tells her  _ no rush  _ with that same kind smile that he greeted her with when he walked into her office for the first time. It stalls her; that look. It has her gripping the door handle too tightly, standing outside in the sweltering heat even though the sun has long sank below the horizon. In the end, Tessa shakes her head and gives him one last goodbye before closing the car door shut.

**…**

The winter days race on, so fast that Tessa finds herself scrambling to catch up. Between dance recitals and the few figure skating competitions she started picking up two years ago when she found herself falling a little in love with the sport, her planner is filled and her days overflowing. Sleep becomes a commodity rather than a necessity these days. Purple permanently permeates below her eyes, her veins staining the delicate porcelain skin she holds. Tessa wouldn’t change it for the world, though.

The one time she does get a break is late at night when she can curl up on her couch with Normand, his massive head perched on her lap and his eyes shut, long ago succumbing to his puppy dreams of chasing squirrels and endless belly-rubs. Tessa is anything but relaxed. Her spine is stick-straight, her eyes wide and taking in the ever changing images across the television. 

The PyeongChang ice dance event is well on its way, already in the last warm up group of the night, and Tessa’s never felt more nervous for something that she is thousands of miles from. There is nothing she can do right now except hope and cross her fingers and knock on wood. Her suspicions have even kicked in; all of the shoes at her front door are lined up perfectly and a safety pin is tacked into the top of her shirt. 

By the time Scott and Ella hit the ice, her knee is shaking uncontrollably. She holds her breath what feels like the entire free dance, so long that Tessa starts to feel light headed because of it. Every time Scott goes to lift Ella or the two transition into a difficult step sequence, she feels her whole body jolt with the actions. When they finally finish, the two celebrating in shock, holding each other with a strength that Tessa swears she can feel through the screen, there are tears falling down her face.

They win because of course they win.

After the medal ceremony when she catches Ella shed a few tears of her own, Scott looking like he’s balancing on the precipice of doing so as well, Tessa decides to call it a night. Normand and her travel up the stairs, crawling into bed together. The dog is snoring while Tessa looks at her phone. She still has his number. Scott’s, that is. They haven’t had an exchange between each other in just under a year when she texted him congratulations on winning Worlds.

She debates shooting him a message, types then erases a paragraph, a sentence, just a few words. There is no guarantee when he will see the text, or if he will at all. Tessa’s sure that his phone must be blowing up right about now, all the way on the other side of the world. In the end, though, she texts him a  _ Congratulations!!!  _ along with a gif attached of a little girl excitedly cheering (she’s quite fond of that one).

In favour of actually catching some sleep for once, Tessa tucks her phone under her pillow after plugging it in and shuts her eyes. She doesn’t expect her phone to vibrate what feels like only a few minutes later. When she pulls it the time stamps tell her that it’s only been seven minutes since she texted Scott.

_ Thank you, Tessa! You’ll have to take some celebratory photos ;)  _ he’s sent back.

_ Of course, just tell me when. For now, please celebrate. You deserve this and all of the happiness in the world. _

She wonders for a moment if that’s too much. It only lasts a few seconds because Scott is texting back, saying,  _ And so do you.  _

Tessa falls asleep with a smile on her face and a warm feeling in her belly.

**…**

The weather outside balances on the edge of spring, leaking into summer, which means that Tessa traps herself in her office and overworks herself into a stupor. She swears her hair starts greying faster than ever before, so much so that on the way to work she drops into Shopper’s and purchases a box of hair dye that she’ll be using later that night. 

When she gets into the office, Tessa isn’t paying attention too much, is more focused on the ever elongating to-do list that she has permanently etched in her head. Which is why she screams when Normand barks and her office chair spins around seemingly on itself. It turns out, though, that Jordan has snuck in and has been waiting for her, looking like something from a mobster movie that their brothers used to love.

“Jesus, Jordan!” Tessa gasps. “Thanks for giving a girl a heads up.” She knows her voice is dripping with sarcasm and that her face has schooled itself into something that is far from impressed.

“Hey,” Jordan says with a smirk. “Heads up, I’m going to be coming into the office this morning.” Tessa glares at her sister. Normand just trots over and starts licking Jordan’s hand, demanding attention, which she gives the dog easily.  _ Traitor,  _ Tessa thinks. “I haven’t heard from you in a while.”

“It’s been four days.”

“Yeah, and?” Jordan pays no attention to Tessa, just continues to play with Normand’s ears and stroke the fur on the top of his head. “We speak everyday, Tess. I know why you’re getting like this.”

Tessa knows it, too. It’s not like she can help it, though. She doesn’t want another lecture from her sister about how Tessa needs to move on, that she can’t do this to herself every time the anniversary creeps up, suddenly hitting her like a freight train when the day comes each year. That day, in particular, she cannot get out of bed. The lead up is what kills her. She piles on too much, more than she can handle. Mostly so she can take her mind off of the season, what the warming sun means. Partly it’s because she doesn’t want to face any of it, period.

“Tess—”

“Jordan, can you just drop it?” Tessa snaps. She places her bag on the floor by the entrance and toes her shoes off, sliding on her fuzzy blue slippers instead of the Birkenstocks she wore into work. “We go through this every year.”

“My therapist told me that there isn’t a year that goes by where it’s too late to change how you react to trauma,” Jordan tells her, sickeningly sweet, as if hearing this is going to help Tessa any.

Instead of helping her, it causes her to snap even more. “What do you know about trauma, Jo? You weren’t there!”

Jordan steels her face, her jaw clenching. Like this, she looks so much like their mother. “Don’t forget that I lost my family too, Tessa.” Her voice is so even it borders on terrifying. “I know you were there, I know for the rest of our lives we’ll be playing the  _ who has it worse  _ card. But you also know that there is not a day that goes by where I don’t regret choosing to go to Ashley’s sleepover rather than going to the cottage with you.”

“And mom, and dad, and Kevin and Casey,” Tessa says sharply. Saying their names hurts, but the damage must be done. “You forgot them. You seem to always forget them.”

“You cannot blame me for moving on, Tess.” Jordan stands up now, stepping closer to Tessa. She’s always been older, has always had her life together, has always been more intimidating because of this. Tessa’s looked up to her for years and years, ever since she was five and saw Jordan putting on makeup for the first time. It was then that Tessa decided she would do everything in her power to be just like her older sister. To this day, she wishes the same thing, down to the lack of guilt around their family’s death. “I’m trying to help you.”

“I know,” Tessa whispers. Her gaze pointedly avoids Jordan’s. “It’s just… maybe this year isn’t the one.”

Silence takes over the office. The only sounds Tessa can really hear are Normand panting, the heat seemingly getting to him too, and the air conditioner working in over time, its hum spreading through the room. She keeps her head turned down, not wanting to look at Jordan. Tessa hates fighting with her sister, especially because Jordan is the only family she has left.

“Here,” Jordan says. A tiny pair of pointe shoes come into her line of vision, offered to her in the palm of her sister’s hand. “These fell out of my closet this morning. I figured mom was trying to tell me something, that I should go check up on you.”

Tessa takes the delicate shoes in her hands, careful not to rip or tear any of the silk threads. She runs her fingers over the fabric and is immediately launched back in time. 

They went to see The Nutcracker, all six of them. It was Tessa’s one Christmas wish, and so their mother dragged the whole family to Toronto to watch the ballet. And did Tessa ever watch. She sat, five years old, on the edge of her seat, mesmerized by the entire show. Even after the last number ended and the deep red curtains came to a close, Kate couldn’t tug her daughter from the theatre. After that, Tessa begged her mother for lessons, for a pair of pretty pink shoes sewn together by what she thought, at the time, was silver and gold and silky smooth butterfly wings. Her mother told her to wait. Tessa did, until her six birthday when the very shoes that are now held in her hands came wrapped in a cardboard box, tissue paper cradling them like a cloud.

“You’ve lost more than one thing, Tess,” Jordan says, her voice gentler than it was just moments ago. “You were able to bounce back from one of those loses, I believe you can do it again.”

Jordan is talking about the two scars lining the front of her shins. There is a big difference between losing a few strings of sinewy muscle and dreams she’s had since she was a child, versus watching the very foundation of her life be torn from her grasp.

Before Tessa can say anything in response, can muster up some lie that she’ll try hard, that she’ll book a therapy appointment, that she’ll create a fucking dream board or some shit if she has to, her phone rings. 

“Hello,” she answers. 

“I’m telling you when,” the voice on the other end says, deep and familiar in a distant kind of way. 

When Tessa pulls away the phone to look at who is calling, she smiles. “Scott,” she says his name once she brings the device back to her ear. “It’s so lovely to hear from you. Congratulations again.”

He chuckles, the sound crackling through the line. “If I had a dollar for every time someone has congratulated me in the past few months, it might be enough to pay my parents back for the gas money they’ve spent on me over the years.”

She giggles. Jordan raises an eyebrow at her, but Tessa just brushes her off and walks over to her desk and sits in the chair. “Well one more dollar surely doesn’t hurt.”

“No,” he says, “you’re right, it doesn’t hurt.” The other end of the phone crackles for a second. Tessa can hear Scott whisper something and the sound of a female voice in the background. “I do have a question for you though, Tessa.”

This peaks her interest. “Oh yeah?”

“Yeah.” She can hear the smile in his voice. “What are you doing from September until November?”

“Of—of this year?”

“Yeah, this year. 2018.”

There is a feeling that starts stirring deep inside of her, close to excitement but also an anxious nervousness that she isn’t sure how to quell. “I don’t even know what I’m doing later today,” she says, earning her a laugh from Scott. “So I guess that I’m not sure for now. Probably a few competitions and recitals here and there.”

She doesn’t feel confident enough to ask why. There’s another feeling inside of her: hope. For a lot of her life, she’s taught herself to smother that feeling with an extinguisher. Hope leads to heartbreak. Scott, though, doesn’t take long to ignite the flame. 

“Ella and I are creating a tour and we want to take you on as the official photographer.” She pauses and he pauses and she swears her heart may just beat out of her chest. “That is… if you want to, of course.”

“No, no!” she rushes, not wanting her silence to indicate anything other than a pleasant shock. Jordan raises her eyebrows at the outburst and Normand places his paw in her lap, like he does whenever she loses stability. “I want to. Trust me, I really want to. I’d just— ah. I’ll have to sort things out here in the office and with my clients but trust me; I’d want nothing more.”

Scott exhales, sounding relieved, and says, “That’s so good to hear, Tessa. So great. We can proceed with contracts and arrangements?”

“Of course,” she tells him. Without even thinking, she unhooks the binding of her planner and starts to unfold the pages. “You have my email still, correct?”

“Yes, we do,” he says. “I’m stoked, Tessa. You always seem to make everything we do look better.”

“I think you do that all on your own.” The words tumble out with her not thinking anything of it, but with Jordan’s face changing and Tessa’s self-reflection, she realizes how suggestive they sound. Almost as if she were attempting her shot at flirting (albeit, that’s been something she’s lacked strength in her whole life). “Uh,” she clears her throat. “Anyways, we’ll keep in touch, yeah?”

“Absolutely. I’ll email you all the finer details as soon as possible,” he tells her. “Just a little more smoothing out on our end and then we will be good to go.”

“Okay,” she says. “Thank you so much for this opportunity, Scott. And please pass on my gratitude to Ella as well.”

“Of course, Tessa,” he says. The female voice comes into the background of the other line again and Tessa assumes that it must be Ella. “We should be the ones thanking you.”

“Oh, no worries,” she dismisses his thanks. And then, when she says, “I cannot wait to work with you two again,” she absolutely means it, down to the giddy feeling bubbling up inside of her. So much for not burying herself in work this year. 

**…**

Tessa doesn’t mind September. There’s a palpable energy of new beginnings. Schools begin to gear up again, students all over preparing for a fresh start. Even though the plants start to die, Tessa believes that they are commencing the process of a different phase, the first into a new life. The reds, oranges and yellows compliment each other in a way she believes no other scenery of colours could. The weather is warm but not hot, cool but not cold. It’s a perfect cacophony of experiences wrapped into a singular month. Plus, it’s after the anniversary of the accident, far enough away that usually she is done grieving by the time the first of the month rolls around. 

This September, there is an additive bonus to the pleasant feeling in her system, starting with the plane ride to Montreal. It’s almost like deja vu when she lands on the tarmac, except this time there is no Scott or Ella to greet her in the terminal, just a polite Uber driver that ushers her into his car and heads directly to the rink, even with all of her belongings. Tessa doesn’t mind, though. She happily rolls her suitcases into Gadbois and straight to Rink C. Scott told her that Marie-France and Patrice were kind enough to offer them a place for the week of rehearsals and choreography with the other cast members. This is where Tessa finds him and Ella, as well as the group of other skaters warming up, either on the ice or off. 

“Tessa!” Scott yells her name the second he sees her from the ice. Immediately he drops whatever it is he was doing (thank god it wasn’t Ella) and skates over to her. 

She meets him at the boards with a smile and a gentle, “hello.”

“How was your flight?” he asks, eyes intently looking into her own, as if she is the only person who matters to him right now.

This happened the last time she photographed him and Ella. Scott has this innate ability to make you feel special for however long he speaks to you. He pours his heart and soul into you and your conversation. Tessa thinks this is rare,  _ very  _ rare, and she genuinely cherishes every second she spends with him. The face he makes, like he is hanging off of every word she speaks, is truly priceless. 

“It was good,” she answers him, tucking a strand of hair behind her ear that’s fallen from the bun piled on the top of her head. Tessa looks around and notices all of the people in the rink. “I’m sorry if I’m late…”

“No, no,” he rushes, quickly to prove her wrong. “You’re just on time.”

Tessa smiles. “Perfect. Uh,” she gestures to her equipment, “where would you like me to set up?”

Scott purses his lips and places both hands on his hips, striking a power pose. If she didn’t think he was attractive before… “I’m thinking we could have you moving along the boards and then get some shots from the ice as well.”

Her eyes widen on their own accord. “From—from the ice? Like… on it?”

“Yeah.” Scott chuckles when he notices her apparently obvious dissatisfaction with this idea. “You can skate… right?”

_ Of course I can skate,  _ she wants to snap. If there is one thing Tessa hates, it is feeling undermined. But the reality is that she really  _ cannot  _ skate. Like at all. She thinks the last time she was on ice was when she was twenty-one and went to a public skate for a horrendous first date that did not end with an offer for a second. And even then, the whole time she was shaky and unsure, only willingly holding her date’s hand so she wouldn’t fall on her face. 

Tessa ends up saying, “well, I  _ can  _ skate, but I’m not very  _ good  _ at it, per se.”

“Per se…”

“Per se,” she repeats. “As in I may fall down in a matter of seconds.”

Scott grins wide, his teeth on display. She swears the lights glint off of them. “Score!” he shouts, to which she replies with a raised eyebrow, confused by his reaction. “I’ve found a weakness in you,” he clarifies. 

_ Trust me,  _ she thinks,  _ there are many more where that came from.  _

Instead of saying anything, Tessa just blushes like a fool and starts to unpack her camera equipment, dropping the skating conversation completely. She really hopes this means that she can stay on solid ground for the entirety of the day. 

Indeed, Tessa does get to keep her shoes on throughout the day, never once swapping them out for a pair of boots with blades attached to the bottoms. She quite enjoys herself the whole time, too, which is an added bonus. The entire cast is filled with a plethora of characters, each of them unique to photograph in their own way. Their interactions are lovely and definitely translate behind the lens of her camera. She finds herself slowly falling in love with watching the creative process, too. It isn’t ever just one person dictating, but rather a group of minds feeding off of each other until they reach a collective agreement, which turns into the completion of a project. Tessa can’t wait to see the show in its complete entirety. 

It’s about six hours after she first got to the rink that she finds herself packing up and heading out. There is a shower and a bed waiting for her in a hotel down the street and she cannot wait until she greets them both with open arms. Just as she exits the rink, though, Scott is standing there. For a second, just after he looks up from his phone and smiles wide at her, she wonders if he was waiting for her. 

“Hey!” he greets her. “How did you find the day?”

Tessa shrugs and continues to walk until she’s comfortably nestled in the heat of the lobby, dragging her suitcases behind her. She really hopes there is a dryer at the hotel where she can pop her pajamas into before bed. “It was good! I enjoyed watching you and the others create together. It intrigues me.”

Scott just stares at her, arms crossed, eyes darting around her face. If she didn’t know any better, she’d think he were standing in an art gallery and looking at a Monet. Suddenly he says, in a sincere (and slightly breathless) voice, “you intrigue me, Tessa Virtue.”

Tessa thinks she blushes, but she isn't positive. Surely it could be the biting cold that lingers in her body from being in the rink for so long today. “I do?” she asks.

Scott nods. “Yes. I want to know more about you, but I can sense you aren’t a fan of opening up to people.”

“And how would you know that?” She becomes defensive, places her hands on her hips and raises her eyebrows at him.

He does the same thing right back to her. “You only give out your email, never your phone number. I know virtually nothing about you other than the fact that you have a massive dog named Normand and you’re from London. Oh, and that you specialize in dance photography. But I could have gotten all of that from a Wikipedia page.”

“I don’t have a Wikipedia page.”

“That’s not the point,” he says. “I can’t live on the same bus as a stranger for an entire tour.”

Tessa becomes stuck. There’s something about Scott that makes her want to spill every single one of her deepest darkest secrets, even all of the gruesome ones that she has never told anyone, not even Jordan or her therapist. But that’s not who she is. There are walls around her, thick ones made of brick and stone, and they won’t be easily persuaded to fall. 

“How about this,” Tessa starts, thinking of a compromise between these two parts of her. “You’re allowed to ask me one question every night.”

Scott raises an eyebrow, but there is a smirk that begins to creep across his lips. “Just one?”

“Mhm,” she hums with a nod of her head. “Just one.”

“Do you promise?”

She fights the urge to roll her eyes. “Yes, I promise.”

He purses his lips, like he’s thinking deeply about this small offer she’s posed to him, like it will change his life, or something. “I can work with that,” he finally says. “We’ll start tomorrow when I can think of a good question. If I can only ask one a night, I need to make them count.”

“Okay,” she says. “I’ll see you tomorrow, then. Hopefully with an answer.”

“Hopefully?!” He gapes at her, almost as if he is scandalized. “You  _ will  _ have an answer for me, Tessa Virtue.”

“Okay Scott Moir,” she says on a giggle. “I  _ will  _ have an answer for you.”

Something inside of her, small and child like, can’t wait until tomorrow night. And every night after that, when Scott will take a mallet to her walls and she will willingly let him.

**…**

Out of all the questions Tessa can think of Scott asking her, she does not expect the first one to be, “if you could pick one song to play every time you walk into a room, what would it be?”

She stares at him, stunned and unmoving. The air around them has cooled down as they exit the arena at a time that is later than Tessa originally expected the day to end around. Not that she minds, she’s had a wonderful time today in the rink. The team is making such great progress on the entire show and it’s been a pleasure to socialize with the other skaters and get to know them, both on and off the ice. It’s always so much easier to capture good shots when she can anticipate the movements from her subjects. It’s why she enjoys attending the same recitals and competitions again and again, with the same dancers performing at them. 

“So,” Scott prods when she stays silent for too long. He’s holding the door open for her and she nods at him gratefully before stepping through. “You have an answer?”

He must have taken her silence for her thinking through her answer. “Uh.” She really isn’t sure what to pick, so she combs through the rolodex of songs in her head and chooses, “I’m Every Woman by Whitney Houston.”

Scott snorts out a chuckle. “Really?”

“Yes!” Tessa defends herself. “It’s a good song!” She dramatically takes a lunging step and throws her arms in the air, careful not to hit him or knock over her camera bag, all while singing the chorus of the song. 

Scott laughs the whole way through, so much that he ends up bent over at his waist with his hands on his knees. “Okay, okay!” he eventually shouts, waving his hands in front of him. “You’ve convinced me, that’s a good choice.”

“Thank you,” she smugly says, and doesn’t even try to fight the smirk on her face. “If you’re so judgemental about my choice, what would yours be?”

“That wasn’t part of the deal,” he tells her as they walk to his car. Scott kindly offered her a ride back to her hotel even though it’s within walking distance. Instead of declining, she gave into the pain in her feet from standing all day and took him up on the offer. “I ask you the questions, but I don’t have to answer them.”

“Well that’s not very fair.” Tessa pouts as she gets in the car, Scott sliding in beside her on the driver’s side. “I think we need to renegotiate then.”

Scott turns the car on, the engine humming to life in a quiet manner. The vehicle is quite impressive, with a white exterior and all red leather interior. Tessa wonders if he had to pay for it or if it was a generous gift by one of the many sponsors him and Ella seem to garner, and haven’t stopped gathering since they won in February. “Okay,” he says while reversing the vehicle. “What are these new circumstances?”

The car rights itself and they drive off in the direction of her hotel. Tessa knows it won’t be a long ride so she needs to act quickly. “Everytime you ask me a question, you also need to answer it.” She thinks that’s fair enough. Also, it will help to filter what it is he is asking. Maybe he’ll be more cautious if he too needs to be responsive. Not that she was scared of what he could ask her. If the first question he’s posed is any indication of what path they’ll be going down with this “contract”, as Scott has called it, then he’ll be harmless. 

“Alright,” he says. “We’ll do that, then. I ask, you answer, then I do.” Tessa nods her head to confirm and Scott smiles over at her. They pull up to her hotel and there is a tugging feeling, deep in Tessa’s gut, that makes her want to stay right here in this car with Scott. They could go on a road trip through the mountains and valleys or just park on the top of Mont Royal, she wouldn’t care. As long as she could stay right beside him. 

But it’s late, and she’s tired and is sure he is too. He wouldn’t want to do any of that, Scott is the one who’s just spent the entire day training and practicing. If she’s exhausted there is no way he isn’t. “Thank you again for the drive,” she tells him politely. 

As she is opening the door and stepping out, Scott reaches over and lightly grabs her wrist. His fingers are soft, soothing. His thumb, whether subconsciously or not, rubs along the bone at the edge of her wrist. Tessa has to suppress a shiver. “By the way,” he says, “I’d want the entire Road Apples album by The Hip to play as I walk into a room.”

Tessa raises an eyebrow at him. “The whole album?”

He doesn’t drop her wrist. “The whole thing. I can walk for a long time.”

_ And I can stare at you for a long time.  _ What a sight it would be, to see Scott fill the entire room with his presence, galavanting around to what she assumes must be his favourite artist. Magnetic is what it would be. 

“We’ll have to test that one day,” she teases him. 

He smiles and finally drops her wrist. It takes everything in her to stop her fingers from travelling up the back of his hand. “Gladly.”

**…**

Tessa’s never been to British Columbia. The scenery is iconic; vast mountains, the bluest water, deep valleys with greenery filling all the concaves of the area. The second she looks out the plane window she falls in love with the province. 

Even though most of her time at the beginning of the trip is found inside of a rink, one that isn’t much different from the others she has seen, there is something electric about the atmosphere. Whether it’s the stunning natural wonders around them, or the palpable excitement for the first show of the tour, Tessa isn’t sure. Nevertheless, she revels in it, soaking it up like a plant does with sunlight. She synthesizes the feeling and energizes herself with it. 

The day of the first show drags on, each hour passing by in extreme slow motion until the lights go down. Even though she isn’t performing, Tessa still feels anxious. She triple checks all of her equipment, makes sure she has at least 5 battery packs and 15 memory cards stuffed in her pockets, just in case. Shows are tricky to handle. With the changing lights, there is no simple way to keep the camera’s settings stable. Instead she needs to adapt, and quickly. Luckily, through the multiple show run throughs, she thinks that she has enough knowledge of what works for each program. 

So when Scott comes up to her backstage, just before they start letting fans into the arena, and asks, “are you ready?” she can confidently say that she is. Scott smiles at the response. “Good.”

“Are you ready?” Tessa asks. 

Scott’s already in the first costume for the night; a black ensemble with a bright neon shirt underneath the zip-up. Visually, he is more than ready. “I think so?” He poses the statement more like a question. So maybe emotionally (and possibly mentally), he may not be so prepared. 

“You’re going to do great,” Tessa tells him with a smile. “I can’t wait to see you out there.” And because it sounds much too personal, like she specifically can’t wait to see Scott in his element (which is true, but she doesn’t want him to know that), she adds, “all of you. The show has come together so wonderfully.”

“Thanks, T,” Scott says. The nickname is something new, recently popping up in the past few days. Tessa loves it, especially the way it makes her feel all warm and bubbly inside. He reaches out and lightly squeezes her elbow. “Can’t wait for you to capture it all in your own magical way.”

Tessa laughs softly and breaks her gaze from his, looking instead at where his hand still rests on her arm. He must think of the action as her being uncomfortable with his touch, so he drops his hand. She holds back a whine from the loss. “I’ll try my best.”

“I trust you completely.” His voice sounds raw, much too open for the crowded backstage, different cast and crew lingering around them. When she looks back into his eyes, his gaze burns. Tessa’s mouth runs dry, unable to say anything. Scott takes the silence and runs, giving her one last smile and saying, “I hope to see you tonight for our contractual obligations.”

“Of course,” Tessa says. 

They’ve kept up the evening, and sometimes nightly, tradition of question swapping, per Scott’s request from a few weeks ago. Mostly, the questions have been superficial and surface level. They’ve discussed their favourite things; movies, colours, artists, places. Tessa is waiting for the day when Scott digs deeper, pulling up her baggage and dark secrets. She could always just lie. There is no obligation in their verbal agreement to tell the truth when they answer each other’s questions. It’s not like Scott would know what is real and what is fabricated. But Tessa doesn’t want to lie. Not to Scott, at least.

Perhaps it’s his eyes. They’re this interesting shade; not brown, not green, not gold. It’s as if they’re all three at once, an amalgamation of colours that make up something unique. And isn’t that fitting? A man like Tessa’s never met before deserves unique features, including his eyes. It’s in the spun shades that she finds security. For every question he asks and every answer she provides, it’s with an open soul, on both ends. His eyes show no judgement, just complete kindness. Tessa could drown in them. 

Which is why, after the show, when Tessa meets him on the pool deck in their hotel, she answers in brutal honesty. 

“Who is my favourite person?” she repeats the question he’s just asked. Scott nods beside her. Their feet are dipped into the pool, the water warm and feeling pleasant on her feet. The room is empty, no other guests in sight, just the two of them. “That would have to be my sister, Jordan.”

Scott nods. His feet kick back and forth in the water, sloshing around and creating waves, which he smiles at when one of them crashes high up on her own legs. “Tell me about her.”

“She’s kept me alive,” Tessa blurts out. Scott stills beside her. “I mean…” She has two options here; she can open up and tell the truth, or she can keep her walls built up, like she always has. One look at Scott and she’s choosing the former. “She’s the only family I have.”

He looks up from the water and tilts his head at her. The lights from the pool shine in his eyes, making them even more breathtaking than usual. “What do you mean?”

One breath in, one breath out, and she speaks. “When I was younger I was in an accident. My whole family was, actually. Everyone but Jordan. We were driving up to the cottage for the Canada Day long weekend. Jordan begged my mom to stay at her friend’s house instead, so we left her behind in London. It was late and there were severe thunderstorms outside. That combined with back roads lead to us veering off the path. Our car flipped a few times off the side of the road down a hill.” Scott gasps beside her, but she continues. “I was in the middle of the back seat, between my two brothers. They literally saved my life with their bodies. Unfortunately, everyone else passed away.”

Scott slides his hand across the concrete to hold hers, gripping it tight with no sign of letting go. Tessa swears when she looks at him that he has tears in his eyes. “Tessa I’m— I’m so sorry that happened to you.” His voice confirms that he’s begun to cry. “I can’t even imagine what you must have gone through. Hell, what you’re probably still going through.”

Tessa nods and squeezes his hand back. “It’s been an unconventional life, that’s for sure. Jordan is older than me, but we lived with our Grandma until she passed away. Then it was just us two, really. I still have nightmares about that night. Even though I was young it’s all still so vivid in my mind.”

“Is there anything I can do to help?” No one’s ever asked her this before. People, for her whole life, have always assumed what she’s needed. A therapist, time off school, immersive days and nights in a ballet studio to focus on another type of pain. The question of what she needs, what someone can give her in order to feel better, has never been posed. It’s a bit of a shock, if she’s honest.

She tells him that. “No one’s ever asked me that,” she whispers, her voice barely heard over the splashing water and swirling hot tub to their right.

“Well,” Scott squeezes her hand, “I’m asking you that.”

“This is nice,” Tessa tells him. She’s referring to his presence, just sitting there together. It always helps to be able to talk about it, judgement free, without a voice of reason. Sometimes she just needs someone to listen and not respond. It’s why she loves Normand so much. “I like being here.”

“Yeah.” His voice cracks and he clears his throat. Tessa doesn’t look at him as he kicks his feet out, droplets dripping off the tips of his toes. “The water is nice.”

She’s not talking about the water, though. (But neither is he.)

**…**

It’s late and that’s all that Tessa knows. Exhaustion takes over, but she needs to wrap up these last emails to Jordan, who is currently helping Tessa run her business from back in Ontario while she is on the road. There are still a few photos rendering on her laptop, too, ones that she edited an hour before hand from the show earlier tonight. The sound of the bus hums around her and she can feel the wheels turning from under her, the couch thin enough to let her in on whenever they pass over a bump in the road. It’s dark besides the glow from her computer and she’s got headphones in to keep her distracted and awake.

There is a figure that suddenly starts walking down the short hallway from the bunks and into the small living space she’s set up camp in. When they get close enough she realizes it’s Scott. His eyes look bleary and his hair is unkempt. He resembles a child as he pads down the hall while rubbing a fist over his eyes, his pajama pants and t-shirt looking soft with sleep. When he plops down beside her she can smell toothpaste and the distinct scent that is Scott.

“Hi,” she whispers.

Scott just grumbles in reply and picks up the earbud that isn’t in her ear, placing it in his own. “Pink Floyd?” he asks, his voice rough with sleep.

She nods. “Yeah. It’s one of my favourite songs ever, it reminds me of my grandmother.”

“I like it,” he murmurs.

Without warning, his head lands on her shoulder, his face rubbing against the material of her sweatshirt. Tessa freezes for a moment, unsure what to do. In the end, she lets him rest against her. Sharing music and the small corner of the couch, Scott watches Tessa continue editing emails and photos. It’s a few minutes later, after both of their breaths has evened out (and she swears they’ve synced with each other, too) and she thinks Scott’s asleep, that he begins to speak.

“What’s the most bored you’ve ever been?” His voice is clearer, not so rough and groggy, but she can still feel it in her toes.

“You’ve already asked your question for the night.” It was  _ if you could go on a date with one person, living or dead, who would it be,  _ for the record. “Stick to the rules, Moir.” She lifts her hand to fick him lightly on the nose but he grabs her wrist before she can. Instead of placing it back to her trackpad, he brings it up to rest on the top of his head. She doesn’t know what to do, just lets it sit there for a moment. He becomes impatient, though, and nudges her hand with a whine, like he’s a goddamn puppy. When she starts to slide her fingers through the strands, Scott lets out a satisfied sigh.

“Just answer the question, Virtue,” he mumbles into her shoulder. His mouth is so close to the collar that she swears she can feel the wet brush of his lips against her skin.

She answers the question to derail this train of thought. “After I went through surgery.”

This gets his attention, she can tell from the way he stiffens beside her. “What was it for?”

“My legs,” she says. The leg of her pants pulls up easily as she brushes her finger across the bone of her shins, revealing one long scar. “Compartment syndrome. How did you think I got into dance photography, hmm? Used to be the one in front of the camera.”

“You were a ballerina?” he asks. She nods. His voice trails off as he whispers, “knew it,” indicating that he is on the edge of sleep once again.

Tessa can’t help the giggle that escapes her mouth. “How did you know that?”

And there is no way she gets it wrong when she indeed does feel his lips brush against her neck when he burrows closer to her. It’s as if her neck is free real estate and he’s put up a sold sign. “I see how you move.”

She freezes. He falls asleep. They don’t talk about it ever again.

**...**

They get into a rhythm, and it goes a little bit like this:

First is the rolling feel of the bus. It’s actually quite peaceful, she finds, and Tessa’s not sure if it’s the rocking back and forth or the exhaustion that settles in her bones from moving across the country, bouncing between cities, but she falls asleep faster than she ever has before. She misses the weight of Normand’s entire body on top of hers. Why buy a weighted blanket when you can just own a massive dog? But the wheels of the bus rolling round and round is a relaxer for her. So is the sound of the other’s breathing. Ella stays fairly silent, the videographer who sometimes joins them between stops tosses and turns, their producer talks to himself softly. And Scott snores, not loudly, but little whistling sounds that Tessa’s found soothing after a few weeks on the road with him.

Second is the bitter cold of a rink. During the day, when they are consistently pumping cool air throughout the arena before guests arrive, in order to freeze the ice solid, it’s the worst. At first she hated it, but now she’s become accustomed to the chilly air. She also learns how to pack her bag in the morning when she first gets off the bus; at least two pairs of mittens, an extra pair of fuzzy socks, a pink scarf that winds around her neck two times (three if she’s desperate), boots to switch into if her running shoes wear too thin, a worn sweatshirt with the National Ballet logo fading from the front, and a wool hat that she’s pretty sure was once her mothers. And then her camera equipment, of course. As long as she layers up, she finds the cold something she can live with. If it means she can watch the skaters slide their way across the ice, she’ll grin and bear it.

Third is the kindness of Canadians she meets along the way. The tour has begun to post her pictures on their various social media platforms, along with her handle, giving her a type of publicity she isn’t used to. People will find her at the shows and compliment her work which, as always, overwhelms her. She takes it with enormous gratitude and tucks the kind words into her pocket to pull out later when she is second guessing her life path. Everyone is so lovely, but her favourite part isn’t hearing what the fans have to say about her own work, but rather the talents of the people they have come to see. She shares all of their sentiments wholly. Something like pride bubbles up inside of her when audience members give out standing ovations like candy on Halloween. Almost every night she has teared up as everyone joins together to sing the national anthem. It makes her feel like she is part of something bigger than just a skating show.

Fourth is the nightly ritual of sharing secrets with Scott. Through their unofficial contract of asking one question a night, she’s learned so much about the other man. So much that, at this point, she isn’t sure if she’s ever been close to another person who isn’t family. He’s shared with her his sorrows after Sochi, how he lost himself in the bottom of liquor bottles and downtown bars where no one knew his name. He’s let her in on the true, full body joy he experienced after winning gold for the first time, and the second. Scott’s talked about his family; his mom who has always been his biggest supporter, his dad who acts first and asks questions later (something Tessa is pretty sure Scott’s completely inherited), his two brothers who he could call for anything and at any time. Her favourite is when he talks about his nieces and nephews, as if they are his own children. He pulls out his phone and flips through an album (yes, an actual album he has created on his phone) of all the kids, the oldest to the youngest, who is only a few months old. There is so much love in his heart Tessa isn’t sure where he keeps it all.

Their conversations, somewhere along the way, have changed. Instead of him just asking one question and her answering, then him, in some mechanical kind of way, it has become a give and take. There is definitely more than one thing being discussed between them per night. She’s become bold and start to ask him things, as well.

Maybe too bold.

They’re on a rooftop in Alberta. It’s an unceremoniously warm night when Tessa finds Scott waiting for her. He left her a note before the show, right on top of her camera bag, telling her to meet him up here at midnight sharp. She’s come up here in just her pajamas and slippers, her hair thrown up in a haphazard bun that’s become loose. Hairs tickle the back of her neck as she walks up to him. 

“Hi,” she says once sidled up beside him.

He turns and smiles at her before looking back out at the city. “Hi,” he says back. His forearms are resting on the ledge and she decides to do the same. The concrete is cold against her cardigan but she likes the leverage. “Aren’t you cold?”

“No,” she tells him. Unconsciously, she wraps her cardigan tighter around herself. “It’s warm outside.”

Scott scoffs. “It’s five degrees.”

“That’s warm,” she teases him. He doesn’t respond to her with words, but he does playfully stick his tongue out at her. Tessa giggles and pushes his shoulder with her own. “What are we talking about tonight?”

“Whatever you want,” he says.

Tessa wracks her brain for what to ask him. They’ve covered most of the conventional bases, touching on the classic get-to-know-you points. There has been something she’s wondered, though. It’s a touchy subject, she’s sure of it. But she can’t help but wonder (just like the rest of the country). “If I ask you something, will you be one hundred percent honest?”

Scott turns and looks at her. “Of course,” he says.

She trusts him, so she says, “are you and Ella in love? Or have you ever been?”

The air goes silent as she waits for him to say something. When she looks over at him he’s staring at a light in the distance, one that’s flashing red and attached to a high tower, warning planes and other aircraft of its presence. “Why do you think people love your photos so much?” Scott asks her suddenly. 

Tessa thinks he’s trying to change the subject, is worried that maybe she overstepped and asked too personal of a question. This is his partnership, something she has no right sticking her nose into. She should have known better. “I’m not sure,” she starts, answering the question first, then preparing to apologize.

She never gets to say sorry, though, because Scott continues. “I think I know why,” he says, still looking ahead at the skyline of Brandon. “People look for things that bring them joy in a world where there is so little of it.” Finally he turns to look at her. His face looks sad, briefly, before he smiles softly. “Your photos portray joy; beauty, even. Ella and I portray love. In a world filled with hate, people will eat up any piece of love they can reach.” He sighs, long and deep. The sound of his nails picking at a scar on his arm makes her shiver. “It’s not that I don’t love her, because I do. I just… we’re so much more than what anyone could think we are. She’s my best friend, my business partner, my better half, if you want to go that far. But… she’s not my girlfriend.” 

The drink that Scott’s left half filled beside them catches Tessa’s attention, glinting in the moonlight. A draft blowing by causes it to become chilly outside, finally feeling like it’s the end of October. She pulls her sweater tighter around her, reveling in the warmth. “I can’t say I’ll ever understand that,” she says. “But,” she continues when his head lurches up from looking at the spot on his arm that’s now bleeding a little, “I understand the desperation in looking for something where there is always so little of it. I guess that’s why I started photography. Dance brought me joy for so long, and then it didn’t. So instead of banishing it, I started to change my perspective. Instead of being onstage, I looked at it through a literal lens.”

Scott chuckles and nods his head. “Ella and I had to do that, too. Skating turned so sour for us, or for me at least, after Sochi. I wanted nothing to do with it. But when we both felt that fire in us to come back, I knew it had to be different.”

“Sometimes change isn’t a bad thing,” she whispers, even though they’re the only ones around.

He looks at her,  _ really  _ looks at her, in a way Tessa doesn’t think she’s ever been looked at before. It makes her feel open, raw, like she’s a freshly peeled peach, innocent and easily susceptible to being bruised. She should be uncomfortable with it, but she’s not. She should curl in on herself, but she doesn’t. Instead, she opens her posture, the sleeve of her cardigan falling down her arm, leaving her collarbone and shoulder exposed. She is almost positive Scott follows the action with his eyes.

“Yeah,” he says, voice deep, almost unintelligible. “You’re right.”

**…**

Ella has started to feel sick lately with terrible migraines plaguing her throughout the day and even into the night, so when they get to Sudbury and they have ice time in the morning, Scott is left alone. Tessa notes how he looks like a lost dog roaming around. It’s strange to see him without Ella. The two of them are a package, there is never one without the other. Scott seems to think this, too, with the way he clings onto the other skaters. It’s like he is going to perish if he doesn’t have a hand to hold while he’s skating.

In his apparent aversion to being on the ice without Ella, he ends up plopping down in the stands beside Tessa. She’s been testing out a new lens today and has found herself pleased with the outcome. Scott watches her closely as she continues to play around with the settings and photograph the other skaters while they practice.

“Teach me,” he says after she takes a particular beautiful shot of the pairs duo in the middle of a lift. 

Tessa turns to him. “Teach you what?” Scott nods to the camera in her hands. “Oh.” She’s never let anyone hold her camera, not even Jordan. She isn’t even sure how she would teach him; photography is an art, and the strength of appreciating beauty that comes with it is difficult to learn. But it’s Scott, and he’s harmless enough. It’s not like he’s going to pick up a camera and want to start a career in photography (though she didn’t think that would happen to her and here she is). “Okay, come stand here,” she tells him, pointing to a spot beside the ice.

He follows her lead and plants his feet where she’s told him to. Tessa comes up behind him, camera in hand, and places it in front of him. She adjusts the monopod, the hooks unsnapping so she can slide more of the bar out, making it taller for him. Scott places one hand on the metal of the monopod and the other on the camera, his pointer finger hovering over the shutter.

“Okay, good,” she says. “When you’re taking action shots, though, especially on the ice, it might be better to move this,” she taps the back of his hand that is gripping the monopod, “and put it here.” She picks up his wrist and moves it to rest on the lens, just over the grip where he would turn it to zoom in and out. “Skating is different than dance. On stage, you are usually the same distance away, so you move side to side only. For you guys, you’re constantly moving in all directions. If you rotate your hips and stay sensitive to the zoom, how much your skater’s body is filling the screen, then you’ll get better photos.”

“You’ve already got me confused here, T,” Scott says with a chuckle.

Tessa laughs softly, too, and, without thinking, brings her hands to his hips. Scott doesn’t even flinch. In fact, she’s pretty sure that he leans into her touch. She uses her hands to twist his hips slightly, swiveling him side to side so that he understands what she means. Her hand also comes up to rest on top of his, using their palms to adjust the zoom, in and out. “Look,” Tessa says softly. 

Scott places his forehead against the camera and lines up his eye with the viewfinder. They follow one of the skaters on the ice, taking shots of them doing crossovers and a few jumps. Tessa can practically feel the heat radiating off of Scott’s back, they are that close. She feels like she can’t breathe or else she’ll disrupt the rhythm they have going; adjust, zoom, shutter. 

When they review the photos he’s taken, Scott gets particularly excited about one. The solo female skater is in the middle of a jump, which one, Tessa isn’t sure. Her face looks calm though, which usually isn’t the case, Tessa has discovered in her short time of photographing skating. Her legs are wound tight together, her hands clasped to her chest, her hair flying around her in a perfect halo.

“Look at this, T!” Scott tells her, pointing to the photo that shows up on the tiny screen of the camera. “It’s not blurry or anything!”

Tessa giggles at his enthusiasm. “It’s a great shot, Scott.”

She swears she can see his chest puff up with pride. “Some would say I’m a natural,” he says, cockiness and all. “I’m coming for your job, Tess.”

As long as she gets to see him walk around with all of the confidence in the world, like she does for the rest of the day, Tessa’s not sure she even minds.

**…**

It’s an unwritten rule that they leave each other a note to meet somewhere after the show. Whether it be on a rooftop, in the hotel pool, outside the OnRoute that they plan to stop at in the middle of the night. Tonight in London, though, he doesn’t leave her a note and she doesn’t leave him one. Tessa assumes that he’ll be spending time with his family, that he will want to spend the night in his own bed than chatting with her, and she doesn’t mind. Really, she doesn’t. Jordan comes to the show and they plan on going out to dinner afterwards, anyways. What’s one night without talking to Scott?

Apparently a lot. The whole time they are out, Tessa thinks about what he is doing. She wonders if he is laughing with his dad, if he is hugging his mom, if he’s got armfuls of his little nieces and nephews. Something pulls deep inside of her, longing to be there to witness it all. Jordan tries to distract her with conversation and cheap drinks.

“He’s cute,” her sister says, pointing to a guy across the bar who is over-dressed in a suit. Tessa shakes her head. “Okay, so we’re on that kind of roll lately, huh? What about her then?” Jordan mistakes Tessa’s disinterest for anyone but Scott as a disinterest for men, period, and points to a girl who has short hair and tattoos up her arm. Usually Tessa would be more than interested, but tonight she doesn’t even bat an eye.

“I’m not really feeling any romance tonight, Jo,” Tessa tells her sister.

Jordan smirks at her and drops one eyelid in a weak attempt of a wink. “Who said there had to be romance involved?”

Tessa snorts. “I don’t really want to go home with anyone, either.”

Jordan sighs and tilts her head. She reaches across the table and places her hand on top of Tessa’s, squeezing it once. “What’s got you down, kid?”

“Nothing, I just…” she pauses and bites her bottom lip. “I don’t know, my head is somewhere else right now, I guess.”

Jordan flips Tessa’s hand over so it’s resting palm up on the table, her pointer finger lightly tracing the lines dimpling her skin. They used to do this to each other when the stress would get to much, when Tessa needed something to remind her that she’s here, alive, living and breathing. “Who has it, Tess?”

Figures Jordan would figure it out. “Scott,” she tells her honestly.

“He’s got kind eyes.”

“Right?!” Tessa confirms, her voice turned up about five octaves and pitches. “That’s all I’ve been thinking about.”

Jordan raises an eyebrow. “All you’ve been thinking about are Scott’s eyes? Right…”

“Not just his eyes,” Tessa says with a roll of her eyes. She picks up her long forgotten drink and swirls it around in the glass. The amber liquid reminds her a bit of Scott’s eyes, in fact. She could get lost in the cyclone the drink creates. “I’ve told him shit I’ve never told anyone else, Jo. I don’t know, it’s just… when I’m with him I feel safe. I haven’t felt safe since the last time mom held me.”

“I know what you mean,” her sister whispers sadly. “What’s holding you back, then?”

“I’m scared,” Tessa admits with a crack of her voice. “I need more time.”

“You know as well as anyone that time isn’t always kind,” Jordan reminds her, as if Tessa’s forgotten.

Tessa glares at her sister. “Are you really playing the dead family card right now?”

“I absolutely am!”

“You’re the worst.”

Jordan grins and stops tracing Tessa’s skin to squeeze her hand. “It’s because I love you.”

Later that night, after Tessa’s gone back to her home to sleep for the night, snuggled up to Normand for the first time in a while, she looks at her phone. She isn’t expecting anything, but there are five unread texts sitting there, all from Scott.

_ Meet me at 13168 Ilderton Road tonight. Eleven o’clock, sharp.  _ Sent at 10:14pm.

She looks at the clock by her bed that reads two in the morning.

_ I’m fulfilling all of your small town fantasies with this beat up pick up truck.  _ Sent at 10:57pm, with a photo attached of the bed of a pick up truck, decorated with lights and blankets and pillows. She swears she even spots her favourite snacks lined up inside.

_ Tessa?  _ Sent at 11:18pm.

_ Just let me know you’re not dead or something.  _ Sent at 11:35pm.

_ Hey. Ella told me that you went out with your sister. I’m sorry for bugging you, I should have asked you earlier. I hope you had a good night.  _ Sent at 12:44pm.

Tessa is absolutely gutted. The longer she stares at the picture he sent, the worse she feels. He did that for her. He listened, and he acted. One night, a few weeks ago, she told him that if she were to re-do part of her life, she would choose to live in a small town. Scott then proceeded to blabber all about Ilderton, the place he grew up in with a population less than a thousand. He told her of the perks of living in a small town, how he knew everyone’s name, and the never ending support he has always felt from his community. 

Tessa looks up the address he sent her and realizes that it’s the arena he first skated in.

She texts him back, even though she is almost positive he must be asleep by now.  _ I’m so sorry, I didn’t see your messages! I wish I could have been there. You brought my favourite snacks and all.  _

Instead of waiting up for a reply, she hugs Normand close to her and drifts into darkness.

**…**

The next day she sees him on the bus to St. Catherine’s.

“Hey,” she greets him once she steps on. He’s sitting on the couch in the main area, the one they fell asleep on together all those nights ago, with Pink Floyd singing in their ears. No one else is around, it seems. Tessa plops down beside him and turns so that she is completely facing Scott, her legs crossed like a pretzel. “I’m sorry I didn’t see your texts last night.”

Scott shrugs and looks up from his phone. “It’s alright,” he says. “I’m sorry for bugging you.”

“It’s alright,” she repeats his sentiment of forgiveness.

The sweatshirt he is wearing looks soft and the material is a deep black, most likely new. It has orange writing on the front, advertising him and his uncle’s shared skate shop. He must have picked up a new one while at home, his other far too faded. Tessa can’t help but remember the other sweater of this kind, probably now buried in a drawer somewhere, and how soft it was. It probably smells like him, too.

“You know,” Scott speaks up suddenly. His eyes face forward out the window where they’ve started moving down the road, heading to the 401. “I don’t need you.”

Tessa’s whole body tenses up. “Okay.”

“I just wanted you to know.” She notices the way his hands ball up in his lap, the veins carrying his blood throughout his body bulging. His knuckles turn white.

Tessa licks her lips and closes her eyes, focuses on her breathing. “Okay.”

Her eyes open once she feels a hand cup her right knee. When she does, she sees Scott and just Scott. It’s like she has tunnel vision and he’s the centre of her attention. His chest moves up and down soothingly. The rhythm makes her want to place her hand on his sternum and feel him living, his heart and his lungs working to keep him alive and with her. “I do want you, though,” he whispers, barely loud enough, but she still hears it. The hitch in her own breathing must give it away. “I like having you around.”

All she can think to say is, “okay.”

Scott smiles softly and pats her knee before standing up. “Okay.”

Later that day, just before they get off the bus to enter the arena, she finds Scott’s sweatshirt folded neatly on her bed, the old one that she had dreamed of earlier. There’s a note on top that reads:  _ it’ll look better on you, anyways.  _ When she puts it on, she finds out that she was right. It does smell like him.

**…**

“Stay here tonight,” Scott whispers into her ear as he passes her during the beginning number of the show in Moncton, on his way to hand off a Canadian flag to a very excited fan. 

Tessa assumes he means the arena, so she does as she is told and hangs out in the stands after the show ends. The cast is in the meet and greet, so she is left by herself for a while, watching the clean up crew disassemble the set and lights and pack it all up to go to the next city. She has to commend them; it’s tough work, doing the same thing night in and night out, over and over again. All of the men look happy to do it, though, laughing with each other and cracking jokes.

“Hey,” a voice says beside her at the same time they sit down in the seat next to hers. She turns and sees Scott, still dressed in his tour merch but he has… oh. He has skates on his feet. “You ready?”

Tessa tilts her head at him. “Ready for what?”

He grins and holds up a pair of white skates. “Your lessons.”

Her eyes widen. “Oh, no. No, no, I can’t. Scott, no, I’m going to break my wrist and then I’ll never be able to take another photo and there goes my livelihood because—” Scott stops her rambling by placing a hand over her mouth. “—because I can’t do anything else,” she finishes, her words muffled by his palm.

“You worry too much,” he tells her.

Tessa grabs his wrist and pulls his hand off her mouth, all while glaring at him. “I worry just enough, thank you.”

“Put the skates on, Tessa.”

“No.”

“Tessa Jane.”

“Using my full name isn’t going to get me to put the skates on.”

“What if we make a deal?”

Tessa pauses, then says hesitantly, “okay… I’m listening.”

Scott’s eyes light up like he’s already reached a victory. “If you go skating with me I’ll buy you a new camera.”

“No, Scott.” Tessa sighs. “I can’t let you do that.”

“C’mon,” he says, poking her in the side. “I know that your backup has been acting up and the zoom on the lens has been sticking.”

“Seriously, Scott, those things are expensive,” she tells him.

“And running a whole tour isn’t?” he says. And, well, he has a point there. “Come on, please, Tessa. Just one skate, I promise I won’t let you fall.”

With a sigh and ten minutes later, Tessa finds herself laced up and on the ice, her hand in a vice-like grip with Scott’s. There are no boards for her to grab onto if she falls, all of them taken down for the show, and the team hasn’t gotten them back up yet. But Scott is there, right beside her, with one arm around her waist keeping her upright and the other now lacing his fingers through her own. It’s just like she told Jordan in London; she feels safe with him.

“See!” he says once they start to pick up momentum and she kicks her feet out, actually gliding across the ice rather than the floundering about she had previously been doing. “You’ve got it!”

A giggle climbs its way up her throat and she easily lets it out. “Watch out, Ella,” Tessa jokes, getting a laugh from Scott in the process. “No promises I’ll be ready for Beijing, though.”

“We’ll shoot for 2026 then,” Scott tells her with a wink. “Can I try something?”

Tessa hesitates, unsure as to what this  _ something  _ could be. Scott skates beside her, solid and strong. His promise from earlier, of not letting her fall, rings in her ears. When she looks up at him, she notices his pink cheeks, the few freckles he has dotted across his nose. She’d quite like to play connect-the-dots with them. “Okay,” she says.

He watches her face the whole time, looking for any sign of her backing out, as he scoops her up in his arms. His hands cup the side of her thigh and the other is just under her armpit, sturdy but not painful like she would expect. Their faces are close enough that she can feel his breath hit her chin, it speeding up from exertion. Scott holds her tight as he continues to skate across the ice. She brings her arm up to wrap around his shoulders, the other resting on his sternum. His heartbeat is as strong as his arms.

“Is this okay?” he asks.

“More than,” she whispers in response.

Tessa could stay here forever, if she’s honest. The glide of his blade is smooth, his embrace is warm, and his presence is unmistakable. She could put roots down here, bury them under the surface of Scott’s skin and hope he would be okay with that. The places where he touches her, in which their bodies line up, the contours of themselves moulding to each other, burn. 

Eventually he has to put her down, though, and as he does so she grips onto the sleeves of his t-shirt, pulling him close. His hands land on her waist and they come to a stop in the middle of the ice. Tessa swears she sees his eyes flicker down to her mouth, but she can’t be sure because she’s too busy doing the same.

“Tessa,” he whispers her name like a prayer. “I—”

“Hey, Scotty!” one of the workers yells. “You gotta get out of here, they’re flooding the ice!”

Scott sighs and pulls away from her, putting at least three feet between them. “Thanks, Bill,” he says to the man that’s currently dismantling one of the many bars that holds up their lights. “We’ve gotta get on the road anyway.”

Tessa follows him out of the arena and to the bus, feeling like she is in a daze. If the worker didn’t stop them, she isn’t sure what would have happened. Actually, she is sure. If no one was there to stop them, to stop her, she would have kissed him. His lips were right there, his eyes were inviting her in, she swears. She wonders if his mouth would taste like the gum he always chews, or maybe the protein shake he drinks right after a show. Vanilla, she knows the flavour.

The blossom of fear inside of her kicks in again. She is reminded of the family she lost, how painful it was to go through the process of grieving. And not only that, but she remembers the abilities she lost, too, when her legs decided to give up on her. Her whole life has been stricken with grief and sorrow. Tessa isn’t sure how much more she could handle. If she were to lose Scott, she would positively break into unequal shards that would have no hope of being put back together again.

Once they board the bus, Scott grabs her hand and tugs her until she turns around and faces him. Her hands land on his chest and his on her hips. “Hi,” he whispers.

“I, uh—” she stutters. “I’m sorry, Scott. I think I need to go to bed.”

He blinks at her, confusion written all over his face. “Wait, Tess, I—”

“I’m sorry,” she apologizes again. She regretfully steps away from him, watches as his hands fall helpless at his sides, and she heads down the hall to her bunk, leaving him forlorn and empty handed.

**…**

It’s near the end of the tour, and so the production team decides to splurge on hotel rooms for the night. Tessa’s slightly surprised that they give her one of her own. She uses the time to take a long bath, letting her skin soak in the water and the bubbles she’s put in fade around her. So much time is spent in there that her fingers end up going wrinkly.

When she finds the strength to leave the tub and get dressed into her pajamas, there is a knock on her door. She smiles, knowing it must be Scott. The second the door opens her assumptions are proven to be true. 

“Hi, you,” he says.

Tessa opens the door further for him to come in. “Hi.”

Scott strolls in like he owns the place and plops himself on the edge of her bed. He looks like he belongs there. “They’ve cancelled the show in PEI,” he grumbles. 

“Why?”

“Something about bad weather and the trucks not being able to make it over the bridge. It sucks, T. I hate letting all of these people down.” He sulks like a two year old who’s just gotten his favourite toy taken away. It would be cute if it weren’t actually sad.

“I’m sorry, Scott,” Tessa says. She sits down beside him on the bed and places her head on his shoulder, hoping he doesn’t mine the few wet strands of hair that land on him. “What are you guys doing about the show in Nashville?”

“Ella and I have some media in Toronto,” he says. “We’re flying out there tomorrow and then flying into St. John’s the day before the last show. The rest of the crew is taking the bus down. I guess you don’t need to go to Nashville, so you can head straight to Newfoundland or take time to go home. It’s up to you.”

Tessa debates what to do. As she does so, she traces the veins in his arms. They are quite blue, sometimes so much that it concerns her, wondering if he is getting the proper vitamins he needs. Almost everyone in the cast has gotten sick on tour and she doesn’t want the same for Scott. It’s ridiculous, though, worrying over him like she is his mother or… or… his girlfriend. Because she isn’t either of those things (no matter how much she wants to be).

She could head home, it would be nice to see Jordan for a while and spend some time with Normand. The dog might have forgotten who she is by now. Or she could spend her time in Newfoundland. It is quite beautiful, and she hasn’t been out there in a while. Maybe a week to herself is what she needs, with no one else around. She could wrap her head around a few things, then.

“Or,” Scott says, his voice gone quite. “You could come with me,” His finger dips under the strap of her tank top, hooking around it. Anyone could see that this is so much more than just an invitation to a trip.

“I can’t,” Tessa tells him and stands up from the bed.

Scott goes tense, his hands balling into fists. She wants to reach out and smooth the creases that form in the middle of his forehead. “Okay, Tess, I have a question for you. Why won’t you let anyone love you?” Scott demands more than asks, not offering any room for an argument. This explosion from him seemingly comes out of nowhere, but it isn’t displaced. She could see it coming from a mile away.

Tessa shudders in a breath and holds it in her lungs. Maybe if she stops breathing, refuses to consume any more oxygen until she falls faint and passes out, she can get out of this. With the way Scott is staring at her, it seems he’ll do anything in his power to make sure that doesn’t happen. 

“I don’t know if I can answer that,” she whispers. 

“You promised.” His voice drops off, his feet stepping closer to her. If she were even just a smidge scared of him, she’d flinch from his closeness. But she isn’t scared of him; quite the opposite, actually. When his hand comes up to cup her face she doesn’t turn away, but rather leans into him, like a flower scrambling for the sun. His touch is so warm it might as well be. “Tess.”

With a lurch in her stomach, she forces herself to turn away. Everything in her is yelling at her not to. “I can’t.” Her voice cracks, giving a hint to her cracking lungs. She can feel her throat filling with tears. “I’m sorry.”

“What are you so scared of?” Scott continues to press, interrogating her with a desperation she’s never seen before. “Please, Tessa.” She knows he means well, that he’s just searching in the dark for a light. The only thing is that there is no light here; just a darkness that has plagued her for years. There’s nothing he’ll find here. 

His last plead, another cry of  _ please  _ is what makes her snap. She steps away from him, a big lunging movement, and musters everything in her to yell, “Because they all leave!” 

A whip might as well have cracked in the air. Her shout hangs heavy between them, her words a thick cloud that sits over their heads. She wants to take it back. Her hands twitch, wanting to skitter through the air and grab onto the words and shove them back in her mouth. Tessa can’t do that, though. They’re out there, ears other than her own hearing the truth for the first time. 

To make matters worse, she continues to talk. Her eyes stay fastened on the ground where snow has begun to fall around them, unable to look Scott in the eye, when she says, “if you don’t allow yourself to love people, it won’t hurt as much when they leave. I can’t… I don’t know if I can handle anymore loss.”  _ I don’t know if I can handle losing you,  _ is what she might as well be saying. 

As if he can read her mind, Scott whispers, “you’re not going to lose me.” 

“You can’t promise me that.”

“And you can’t keep living your life in fear, Tessa.”

She turns her face away from him, tears welling up in her eyes. His hand falls to her shoulder instead of her cheek and the way he rubs his thumb over her collarbone makes her want to throw up. If he keeps touching her like this, she won’t be able to say no. She has to say no.

“I hope you have a good flight, Scott,” she says.

Tessa doesn’t watch him leave, but with the slamming of her door, she sure as hell hears him go.

**...**

It’s the last night in St. John’s, and Tessa has a list of all the shots she absolutely needs to get for tonight’s show. It will be the last opportunity for her to take them, so she spends the day intently watching the show run through. The cast is a little rusty from the longer break, but soon enough they are all back into the rhythm of the show, the numbers looking the best they ever have. Tessa calculates each of the shots; what her settings need to be at, when the pose will come, where the best place to stand is. 

By the end, she is pretty sure she has it all down. She sits in the stands and writes down everything she needs to know for each number; her aperture, ISO, and shutter speed numbers. The sound of the pencil scratching the surface of her notebook is soothing. Here, she doesn’t have to succumb to the overwhelming bittersweet feeling that’s swimming through her veins.

Ella comes and sits beside her. She pulls her hair up into a ponytail, her long blonde hair glistening under the fluorescent lights that line the ceiling. Tessa wonders why Scott never fell in love with her. The girl is stunning, with her tan skin and white teeth, and her tender heart and gentle actions would never hurt anyone. They are perfect together, her and Scott, like they are two puzzle pieces made to fit alongside each other for the rest of their lives. Tessa doesn’t believe in fate, but it was definitely in Ella and Scott’s hands when they first met at such young ages. 

Tessa looks out at Scott, at how he gathers not only his belongings but also Ella’s. He looks like a skating dad holding hot pink guards and a water bottle that has flowers all up the side of it. There’s even a fuzzy purple sweater he has draped over his shoulders like a cape. He smiles at Ella, this big goofy one that Tessa’s only seen him deal out to his skating partner, then proceeds to stick his tongue out at her. 

Ella laughs, this big booming sound that could be mistaken for the female version of Scott’s. It’s like they’ve moulded every personality trait around each other.

“He loves you, you know,” Ella suddenly says, breaking Tessa from her thought process. 

Tessa turns to Ella, her body feeling stiff with the impact of her statement. She wasn’t expecting the magnitude from how casual the other woman’s tone was. “Did he tell you that?” Tessa asks.

“Nope,” Ella says.

“Then how do you know?”

Ella looks at Tessa, now, her bright blue eyes piercing Tessa’s soul. “Because I know him better than I know myself.” Tessa figures that is true. Spending over twenty years with someone would allow you and all access pass into every single part of them. “And I think, if you let yourself, you would love him, too.” 

Tessa doesn’t say anything

Ella reaches over and squeezes her knee, then says, “my mother once told me that it’s better to have felt love and loss, than to have never felt anything at all. Let yourself feel something, Tessa.”

**…**

She finds him in the backstage corridors, minutes before the show is about to start.

“I still owe you one more answer,” Tessa tells him.

Scott furrows his eyebrows at her. “What?”

“You have one more question, and I have one more answer.” She shoves a folded up piece of paper in his hands, one that reads:  _ Meet me at the “A Time” sculpture. 11pm. Please.  _

Hours later, Tessa waits anxiously by the statue that she told Scott about in her hand-written note. He has no obligation to show up. Hell, after tonight, he never has to see her again. Tessa half wonders if he will choose to go out with the cast tonight to celebrate rather than meet her here. That would be the logical thing to do. 

Before she can dig herself too deep in self loathing, Scott turns the corner, his hands shoved into the pockets of his jacket and his chin buried in his scarf.

“It’s freezing out here,” he hisses when he gets close enough. “You couldn’t have picked somewhere, I don’t know, heated?”

“I came here right after my surgery,” Tessa says, dodging his statement completely. “There was a doctor out here who thought he could help with my compartment syndrome. He was hopeful that a new strategy he invented would help blood circulation in my legs, and that would aide in the healing process. It didn’t, just so you know.”

“Okay,” Scott says tentatively.

Tessa nods. “Right, uh. Do you see the two dancers at the top?” Scott looks up and inspects the sculpture closer, his eyes narrowing a smidge, and eventually he hums in agreeance. “I made up a story about them when I was here. It’s probably not even remotely correct, but I needed something to hold onto. You see, that girl, she’s falling. She looks helpless to the gravity that pulls her down. I know it’s just metal, but I could see the pain in her eyes. But then there is the man. He’s right behind her, holding her up, catching her. It’s quite spectacular, how he stands up so straight, even though he’s only on one leg. He’s had his faults, too. He’s had his fair share of pain. But he keeps her safe. He doesn’t save her, but he keeps her safe.”

Tessa pauses and licks her lips. It’s dark around them, so it’s hard to really see the changes in Scott’s facial expression. “At eighteen years old, I had no hope,” she continues. “I had already lost my family, and I was about to lose the next most important thing to me; dancing. This statue, though, it brought me hope. I placed myself in the spot of that woman. I hoped, I  _ dreamed  _ that someday I too would have someone to keep me safe. It was only ever just a dream, though.” She breathes in and lets the oxygen fill her lungs until she finds enough strength to proceed. “It’s taken a while for me to realize that it’s not just a dream anymore, but a reality.”

Scott’s eyes widen and his shoulders relax significantly. His mouth parts on a gasp that gets swept away by the wind that’s whipping around them. Tessa has to tuck her hair behind both of her ears just to hear him.

“I’ve realized it, now,” she says, taking a step forward so that she is closer to him, so that he can hear every word she speaks. “I know usually you are asking the questions, but can I? Just this once?” Scott nods. “Okay. I guess my question is, can I kiss you?”

Tessa can feel the breath of relief that Scott exhales. She can feel it because she soon lets out something similar when Scott grabs her face and, as he pulls her mouth to his, says, “a hundred times, yes.”

Just after Tessa lost the ability to dance, she went a little crazy. And by that she means that she went around kissing everyone she could get her hands on. Boys in bars, girls in clubs. There was something she was looking for in every single one of the lips she pressed against her own. She never found that one thing until now. With Scott’s mouth on hers, his lips sticky and sweet against her own, she’s found it; love. Scott opens her mouth with his tongue and her heart with his hands. The walls she’s built up come tumbling down around them at the same time he pulls a whine from the back of her throat. She tries to find purchase on anything that she can, and it ends up being the lapels of his jacket that she holds onto so tight she’s worried about ripping the threads. 

When Scott pulls away, he mumbles against her mouth, “it’s my turn to ask you something.”

Tessa places one more chaste kiss on his lips. “Okay.”

“Will you please let me wake up beside you?”

Tessa grins, then Scott grins, and his mouth feels like coming home when he presses it against hers. 

“A hundred times, yes.”

**Author's Note:**

> That sculpture at the end of the story is very real and very beautiful, I recommend you check it out.
> 
> Comments are always appreciated. xx


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